


fire ecology

by Merideath



Category: Fantastic Four (Movies 2005-2007), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Sky High AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8692585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: Fire ecology is a branch of ecology that focuses on the origins of wildland fire and it's relationship to the environment that surrounds it, both living and non-living. A wildland fire is defined as any fire that is burning in a natural environment.
A Sky High AU





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PinkPandorafrog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPandorafrog/gifts).



> This is all the frog's fault, pinkpandorafrog that is. Because Layla/Warren is the only ship from Sky High worth shipping, I mean really, Will is such a tool. Sorry not sorry, Will Stronghold. AUs are my bread and butter, besides sickly sweet fluff to put you in a coma. Darcy and tech go hand in hand, in my book anyway, so imagining her to have power over plant life was a blast. I may write more on this story sometime, I have it in my head to write a Save the Citizen scene, but for now this is as much as I could squeeze out of my muse, Sybil. Hopefully you enjoy it. 
> 
> Thank you, Dizzy, for once again beta'ing the crap out of my cobbled together sentences.

It isn’t Johnny’s fault he’s an ass. Darcy is still going to murder him, though. That’s totally a given. 

The bus screeches to a halt, leaving Darcy’s stomach somewhere on the ground far below. One by one she uncurls her fingers from the seat and pulls herself up to her feet. Adjusting the strap on her satchel, she follows the herd past the driver, in his coffee-stained purple shirt, and off the bus. The grounds of Sky High are relatively safe. Safer than the ride to school, anyway. 

“Hurry up, Darcy, I don’t want to be late for class,” Jane says.

“You’re never late to class,” Darcy says, rolling her eyes. Jane was Mary Poppins levels of perfect in everything, but the finer points of control over her ability to literally rip holes in the fabric of the universe. 

“But you are,” Jane says, scribbling something down on her wrist with a pen. “Did you finish the history homework?”

“Yeah, you wanna compare answers to the bonus questions?” Darcy says, pushing a few loose strands of hair back underneath her slouchy knit hat. Her fingertips brush the white rose bloom tucked securely into the hat. The petals are silky soft, and a fine dusting of yellow pollen from the flower’s heart clings to Darcy’s fingertips. 

“There were bonus questions?” Jane says. She stops in her tracks, swinging around to face Darcy. “Oh my God.”

“Dude, chill, I got you. It’s not like I was up all night trying to build Idlewild-Rosencrantz thingies,” Darcy says.

“That’s not-”

“I know. Come one we’re gonna be late, Janey.” Darcy says, tugging on Jane’s shirtsleeve.  
……..

Lunch period was, in Darcy’s opinion, the second worst part of the school day, The worst being Hero Support class. 

The cafeteria is a zoo at the best of times. On the average day it’s more like a war zone. Today is shaping up to be an average day, the sort of purgatory Dante never wrote about. Darcy keeps her head down and her ipod on. 

“Hurry up, Jane,” she mutters under her breath. It's useless though; she knows Jane is with Team Brainiac contemplating ways to make the world a better place through the magic of science. Darcy rolls her eyes and rolls the iPod cord back and forth between her fingers. 

The cord is woven between the purple leaves of a small succulent in a terracotta pot. The succulent, an echeveria hybrid, waves its pudgy leaves and tugs at the cord. A small smile surfaces on Darcy’s lips and she takes a break from poking at the blob of overdone spaghetti on her tray to run her fingers over the leaves. 

The fat leaves vibrate and a scent like grape markers perfumes the air. Darcy’d been trying for a citrus scent when experimenting with weaving and unweaving the succulent’s DNA. She hadn’t quite gotten there, but the scent was comforting, all the same. 

The music funnelling down her ears wasn’t quite enough to drown out the noise of the cafeteria or the outburst of male posturing going on two tables down between Rumlow and Storm. 

“What’s the matter, Shit-Storm? Can’t deal with your sister being a-” 

“Nobody talks about my sister,” Johnny spits out, his hands bursting into white hot flame in response to Rumlow’s taunting. 

Johnny Storm, of course, is on the hero track. His fire and flight powers are more spectacular than Darcy’s own chlorokinesis. But with the fire came a temper to match. 

Storm’s sister graduated from Sky High three years ago. She would have barely made a footnote in the school’s history if she hadn’t ditched her prom date, Reed, to be with the exchange student from Latveria. An exchange student who turned out to be a supervillain in training. It was kinda a touchy subject. 

Whatever skills Brock Rumlow lacked in calculus he more than made up for in his ability to find sore spots. A fireball the size of a baseball, shoots out from the crowd gathering around Johnny and Brock and smashes into the ceiling above. Red hot cinders and grey ash filter down around the tables sticking to everything in sight. 

Johnny yells, his hands burning like a male cheerleader from hell, and he rises up off the ground, hovering in midair. It’s a mistake. A big one. Rumlow grabs Johnny by the ankle and spins him around over his head and up, to smash against the ceiling. He drops down to the ground like a burning meteor, crashing down onto Darcy’s table. The spluttering flame from his hands melts the blue plastic tray holding the remains of Darcy’s lunch, and ignites the little succulent. The plant gives out a high pitched wail as it burns down into a lump of charcoal. 

“Oops,” Johnny says, lifting his hands and quieting the flames. 

“Oops?” Darcy spits out. She gets to her feet, hands curling into fists, eyes stinging. 

“My bad?” Johnny says. His shoulders shrug up and a sheepish smile crosses his stupid, smug face. 

Darcy sees green.

…

The Detention Room

“Hey, you’re not gonna cry are you?” Johnny asks, sprawling out in his desk. 

“Bite me, Storm,” Darcy bristles. There is no way in hell she’s going to cry in front of him. 

“So, how come you’re a sidekick when you should be on the Hero Track?”

“Because I _am_ a sidekick.”

“But you can do that thing with a bit of twig,” Johnny says. His eyes raise up to the bit of rose cane stuck in Darcy’s hat, the flower left behind to be trampled on the cafeteria floor.

“Wingthorn rose,” Darcy says. She raises a hand and plucks the piece of rose cane from her cap, careful of the sharp tipped thorns. 

“Whatever,” Johnny shrugs.

“I didn't know,” Darcy says pushing her thumb through a scorched hole in the bright green cotton of her sweater. There’s a small chance that she might be able to stitch the holes in the arm up, but the stain from the spaghetti sauce looked to be eating through the fabric at a more alarming rate than the cinders from Storm’s power had burnt it.

“Didn't know what?”

“That I could do that. It's not like growing flowers is useful against supervillains,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. Power Placement with Coach Boomer freshman year had been humiliating. She had only manifested a few weeks before school had started, bringing a withered lily back to life, much to her surprise and her parents delight.

Sometimes she could still hear Coach Boomer screaming ‘Sidekick’ at her. Usually in dreams, right before she realized she was naked in front of the entire school, or that it was test time in a class she’d never attended.

Being labelled a sidekick never bothered Darcy. She would have been happy as an average ordinary citizen. The possibility of being moved onto the Hero Track was overwhelming.

Darcy pulls her knee in tighter to her chest letting the fight in the cafeteria play out over and over in her head. Rumlow punching Johnny with a fist of stone. Johnny flying back to crash into Darcy’s table. The flames dripping from his hands. The poor little succulent hybrid burning to charcoal (her MP3 player along with it). The feeling of power humming through her body as she gripped the tiny piece of wingthorn rose, pouring life into it. The wall of rose canes growing out and out, doubling at an exponential rate, shredding Johnny’s jacket and Rumlow’s tracksuit pants.

“Why isn't Box-o-Rocks in here with us?”

“Rumlow’s Vice Principal Pierce’s pet troll,” he says, tapping his fingers on the desk. “Anyway, sorry about the plant. Not sorry about the sweater though, that thing is fugly.”

“That’s how you apologize?” 

“When you’re this hot, you don’t need to apologize,” Johnny says, snapping his fingers. His brow furrows and he snaps his fingers again. 

“No powers in detention, dumbass.”


End file.
